Believing In Magic
by Aqua Lion
Summary: Steve and Joe never understood each other. And when you're growing up torn between magic and reality, it helps to have a brother you can rely on. But at least Steve always had his puppy... all Joe has is a duck and a grudge.
1. Joe's Story

_This is not a parody, and nobody dies. All I wanted to do was reconcile Blue's First Holiday and Joe's intro arc... I got carried away.  
_

**Believing In Magic - Joe's Story**

* * *

Joe is seven.

Going to the magical house is always a treat, because outside of here he doesn't make friends easily. Teachers don't understand it, they tell his parents. He is a bright, cheerful, pleasant child, yet he always seems to be alone. He ought to have lots of friends. But he doesn't, and the adults around him are confused.

He doesn't feel like telling them why.

Other children don't understand him, either. They never have. Not since his first day of kindergarten, when the teacher told them to draw pictures of their best friends. Nobody had ever told Joe that it is _unusual_ to have a mailbox and an alarm clock for friends. He knows now.

It is not worth trying to explain to parents or teachers; the teachers do not believe him anyway, they say he has an "overactive imagination." His peers think he's weird, or dumb, or whatever the day's most popular playground insult may be. Nobody wants to play with a freak who thinks that clocks should be able to talk.

Really, he doesn't care. He has friends here, and that is enough. Though he is slowly realizing that something about those friends is a little bit off...

"Mailbox?" He is sitting next to the mailbox in question, leaning back against his post. "We've always been growing up together, right?"

That's right!" his companion agrees cheerfully.

"Us and Tickety, and Sidetable, and Slippery, and Shovel and Pail?"

"Yep," Mailbox agrees again, but sounds just slightly confused. "Joe, something wrong?"

He shifts uncomfortably, not sure how to ask it. He likes the others very much, it's just... "Why're they still acting like babies? _We're_ not still babies."

Mailbox considers his question, but seems to have no answer. Joe doesn't expect one. But he wants to ask, to get the thought out, to be certain he isn't the only one who's noticed... to reassure himself, maybe. Being called dumb and crazy by his classmates _has_ made him insecure. Just a little.

No... he's not stupid. But it doesn't make sense, certainly not to his young mind. All his life, he's spent so much time at this place, yet it seems as if time is slowing. It bothers him, because these are his friends, and he finds himself unable to talk to them about his life. They are too young to understand.

So he sits at the end of the path with Mailbox, the only one who still seems to be his age. He wonders why, but writes it off to magic. After all, everything here is about the magic. The explanation is good enough for a seven-year-old. But still. For the first time...

Joe feels lonely.

* * *

Joe is eight.

Second grade is exciting, because the students' cubbies have been replaced with lockers. From observing his classmates he knows that he is not alone in enjoying this; his peers think that having lockers makes them seem grown up. For his part, he likes having a lock. His things go missing much less often these days.

This is the only good point of being in second grade, but he takes what he can get. And it isn't fair to claim he dislikes the new year in school. It would be okay if only he could go to the magic house afterward, the same as it has always been okay before.

But he can't.

He has nothing against staying home with Steve, not really. His brother is very nice, if a little distracted with his puppy. But that is normal, and Joe is used to it. The problem is that he is used to having his _own_ friends to play with. Even if Mailbox is the only one he could really talk to, the others were all fun to hang out with. Life was good.

Not anymore. Though there is no shortage of classmates wanting to talk to him—classmates who do not know, or care, that their teasing is outdated. As he retrieves his backpack from his locker, he hears two of them approaching and grimaces. It is time to leave. Preferably quickly.

"Hey Joe, don't run away, we wanna talk to you!"

"Yeah, tell us again about your bestest friends in the whole world! Like the talking table!"

"Don't lie, she's your _girlfriend_ isn't she?"

"Or does she not like you anymore?"

"Ooh, is that why you haven't talked about her?"

"Even the table knows how dumb you are!"

They burst into giggles. Joe keeps his eyes on the floor, because he knows that answering will only make it worse. He has tried answering. He has also tried telling them to go away, threatening to tell the teacher they're bothering him, hitting one of them, and expressing his sympathy that they don't know any talking mailboxes.

All these efforts have backfired in various ways, leaving him with avoidance as his best option. So he takes it. They can only follow him so far; _they_ have to catch the bus. For not unrelated reasons, he is not riding the bus anymore. Home is not that far, and he has nothing better to do than walk anyway. And he enjoys the time outside.

Joe gets by.

* * *

Joe is ten.

He is hunched over beside his bed, all his attention focused on pieces of yellow and orange cloth spread out in front of him. Still, despite his concentration, he listens. And he never fails to hear approaching footsteps.

Though the door is closed, whenever he hears someone he quickly shoves the material under his bed until the coast is clear again. This is his secret. His special, very important project. He jealously guards it from everyone—but especially his brother. It's only fair.

After all, his brother has Blue. But Joe has no one, not really, not anymore. Until now.

His hands ache, and there are a few small streaks of blood across his right. His hand-eye coordination is not great, and he isn't good with needles. But he forges ahead. Lessons learned from his gym teacher, who constantly reminds his class: no pain, no gain. Maybe there are easier ways to achieve this goal. But doing the work by hand seems better, more fitting.

It will all be worth it. He has no doubt of that.

Finally he sets the needle aside and picks up the floppy mess of yellow. The instructions say to turn it inside-out; getting the whole thing turned is tricky, but still a nice reprieve from stabbing himself.

Already the shape is familiar, and his eyes light up with excitement. The hard part is finished now.

Impatience surges through him, but he forces it back. Nearly done. Now isn't the time to get careless and mess everything up. So, if anything, Joe goes slower. He follows the instructions with supreme focus, refusing to make any mistakes. Keeping the stuffing even is a trick; sewing the last hole closed is not so bad. Almost anticlimactic, really.

Finished. Grinning wildly, he examines the stuffed duck from every angle. It is beautiful. It's perfect. It's... his, and his alone.

His secret new friend.

"Quack," he giggles at the duck. "Quack quack." It doesn't answer, but he doesn't care. It's perfect anyway.

Joe names it Boris.

* * *

Joe is twelve.

The cold wind stings his face, but he is too angry to notice. It is impulse that has brought him outside, impulse that didn't even give him time to get a coat. His duck yes, a coat, not so much. So he runs, partly to warm himself, but not entirely.

He runs because it burns his energy, and he needs that badly. Nothing else seems to dispel the blistering fire of hurt and denial building inside him.

_No no no no no no NO!_ Coherent thoughts are beyond him for the moment. Only the one word. _No_.

He runs as if he is being followed, though he isn't. Dusk is falling and he is alone—except for Boris, of course. His parents work late; he will be long gone by the time they know to look for him. As for Steve, he was shut up in his room doing homework.

Not, Joe thinks darkly, that Steve will care anyway. All Steve cares about is Blue. That much is obvious, and far more obvious now than ever before.

It feels he's been gone forever, though his watch claims it has only been ten minutes. Either way he is beginning to realize he has a problem. Slowly but surely, the fact forces its way through his blind charge—he has not been watching where he's going, and he is quite lost.

Once he accepts this, the only answer seems to be to keep going. All he really wants is to get away; if even _he_ doesn't know where he is, nobody else can be expected to find him.

Finally his legs give out; he has been running too long. He finds himself in a park, naturally deserted at this time of evening and in this frigid weather. More than just tired, he is drained, and in his exhaustion doesn't care that the ground is damp and cold. Clutching Boris tight, he sits back against a tree and shivers.

The sun is setting, and for the first time he is frightened. Just a little. The chill is getting worse and he hugs his duck closer, telling himself it's for warmth, not from fear.

He watches the sunset. Were he a little more mature, more prone to introspection, it would seem like an apt metaphor. As it is, his thoughts are not on metaphors. They are on Steve.

His brother is moving out. Leaving... _leaving him._ He takes it personally because he knows no other way to take it. Steve has always been there; he can't leave now, can't abandon his little brother. He _promised_. But he is. And Joe hates him for it, hates him with an intensity only betrayal can spark.

But hate is tiring to maintain, and it's so cold... he wonders if anyone is looking for him yet. Briefly he even wonders if this was a bad idea, wonders what might happen if they don't find him... he shakes it off with a new surge of anger. No. He hopes they don't find him. He hopes he dies out here. That'll show Steve. That'll teach him a lesson.

Joe falls asleep shivering.

* * *

Joe is fifteen.

The sun is beginning to set as he jogs around the field, somewhere near the front of the pack. He prefers the twilight to the beginning of practice, where the sun is at full force and pounds the field without mercy. That's his opinion; he knows most of his teammates disagree. It's late, after all. They have social lives to attend to.

Good for them—he thinks that without bitterness. It _is_ good for them, but he does not share their concerns, because practice pretty much is his social life.

This is an improvement, anyway. Since discovering a talent for soccer he is no longer an outcast, though he remains a bit distant. Not that it's immediately clear at first. He is naturally cheerful and outgoing, a trait which served him quite poorly when his classmates were intent on abusing him. It serves him better now; he can get along with anyone not predisposed to hating him.

It seems, to him, more natural. He can act more like himself. The lack of close friends doesn't bother him; actually, it's probably for the best. He really has not changed so much from the awkward dreamer who was so roundly mocked. Now he's simply an awkward dreamer who's learned to kick a ball around.

For that matter, his teammates are the same people who have, up until now, made his life miserable. But Joe doesn't dwell on that. He doesn't hold grudges.

Well... except the one grudge.

He files in with the others, gulping some water and exchanging cheerful "See you tomorrow"s with his teammates. Slowly they all leave, but he doesn't. He climbs onto the bleachers and watches what's left of the sunset.

This is an unfortunate ritual. He watches because it is beautiful, and Joe has a keen sense of beauty; he is always open to wonder, wonder others might overlook. But no matter how brilliantly the colors stream across the sky, he cannot quite shake off the shadow. A memory of a night not so very long ago, where he clutched Boris like a lifeline and watched the sun descend.

He refuses to cry; he is mature now, and far too old for tears. It builds character, he decided some time ago. Memories will not drive him away from the sunset. So he lets himself think, just for a few minutes, about how he has reached this point.

As always, he wonders how Steve is doing. It wouldn't be difficult to call and ask, of course... in theory. He will not do that.

With his brother gone, pride is all he has left. He doubts he will ever work up the courage to visit Steve... to reconcile, perhaps. Youthful spite still rules him too strongly. Recognizing the fact does not change it. He isn't quite that mature. So he plays soccer, watches the sunset, and tells himself that life is just fine.

Joe is good at lying.

* * *

Joe is eighteen.

As always, he hangs back after soccer practice, packing up his gear slowly so nobody will ask why he isn't leaving. After four years on the team, he doubts anyone will, but it is habit by now. But today is unusual; today his coach's voice breaks his concentration.

"Hey! Burns! Hold off a minute, I want to talk to you."

His first reaction is resentment; he does not like being called by his last name, though he has gotten used to it. His second reaction is worry; an old reflex, wondering what he's done wrong this time. But he cannot really be in trouble, because Coach Kelly prefers to handle discipline in front of the team. So he retreats to the bleachers and gives the coach a questioning look. "Okay?"

"We've got some scouts in looking at Snyder." Joe nods, unsurprised by this—Snyder is the team's star goalkeeper. But what this has to do with _him_ he cannot guess, so he puts on his best _get on with it_ expression. To his credit, the coach catches on. "One of 'em was asking about you. Said you could get an offer if you'd develop a little more finesse."

The news blindsides him. Admittedly, that is not difficult, but still. He blinks, taking a moment to go over those words in his mind and make sure they still mean what he thinks they mean. "Uhh..." But there is a problem. His initial shock is giving way to indifference, not excitement. So he hedges. "That, um... that's good to know, Coach. And...?"

His coach looks exasperated. He does have that effect on people. "Burns, would you drop the space cadet act for a minute? Just once? This is sort of a big deal."

If he is easily blindsided, he is even more easily amused, and 'space cadet act' is a new one. He suppresses a grin which would not be well-received, and nods. "Sorry."

"Eh." Coach Kelly waves off his apology. "So look, if you wanna go for it, it'll take some work. If you want any help, some extra practice or whatnot, you feel free to come talk to me. I'll give you whatever help I can."

"Sure, I'll do that... thanks, Coach." Though his tone barely changes, he makes it clear the conversation is finished. He knows already that he will not take the offer. So he watches his coach leave, then leans back on the bleachers and shakes his head.

_Finesse_. That amuses him very much.

No, he is not overly interested in developing more finesse. He is not interested in getting an offer from any scout who may have noticed him. Truth be told, he is not interested in college at all, but that probably isn't relevant.

To him, soccer is a hobby which makes high school bearable. Pursuing it further means more effort than he cares to expend; he can't be that excited about the game. Or much of anything else, really. His disinterest in the world is getting worse, not better, as he comes closer to moving out into it.

Perhaps it's foolish to shrug off the opportunity so quickly, but he can't help it. All he can do is follow his dreams. And there is a problem with that.

Joe has no dreams.

* * *

Joe is nineteen.

His apartment is small and quiet. And empty. If he were still in school he might like the quiet, something always in short supply in his classes. But he is not, and the months of constant silence are grating on him. There seems to be no easy answer. No matter how much noise he makes, the quiet only seems to get worse, and he has given up on that approach—he doesn't particularly want to be kicked out for bothering his neighbors.

The apartment is his parents' idea, one he still isn't sure he cares for. Fresh out of high school, he finds himself lost. Just... lost. He closes his eyes and flops back on his bed, thinking. That is why he's here, after all. To think. To try to find some dream, some ambition, some path he wants to follow.

It isn't that he is unappreciative. Not so many parents would be willing to send a child off to do nothing but 'find himself'. He has not told them—and does not plan to—that he isn't finding much of anything but silence. Besides, he can still hope. Maybe things will change.

Maybe not.

Without being fully aware of the action, he reaches up and pulls Boris off the table beside the bed. He thinks of the duck as his roommate, though he feels silly for doing so. He is much too old to be playing with stuffed animals.

Yet he knows, as he holds the duck close, it is not that simple. He has poured so much of his soul into the toy that he wonders if maybe, keeping Boris nearby will eventually give him his soul _back_.

These thoughts startle him. Deep thinking makes him uncomfortable; he wants to be cheerful. It just isn't so easy under these circumstances. His best attempts to imagine the future have come up empty. And while his parents have offered advice, he's mostly ignored it, because they don't understand... though it isn't their fault.

After all, they didn't grow up with magic. To them, life is simply life. To Joe, life is... boring.

On this whole journey of potential self-discovery, he has danced around that fact, and is beginning to realize he can't avoid it anymore. He is drawn back to that magical place where he left so many memories. And for the first time, he thinks he understands...

He knows why Steve left, as soon as he was able. Even with Blue around his brother must have felt it. The dull, quiet ache of _normality_ after growing up in a world of imagination. Imagination, but not imagined. The magic is still there. Calling him.

Or is it his brother calling? He tries to find the resentment he's held for the last seven years, but it is surprisingly elusive. It could be a sign of maturity, but he doubts it. Not exactly. More that it's hard to be angry anymore, when he now knows he'd have done the same thing.

Of course, that isn't an option now. But then he reconsiders.

Maybe... maybe he can do this. It isn't time. It is long past time. He sits up, squeezes Boris tight to steady his nerves. Without resolving the past, he can't expect to have much of a future.

Joe picks up the phone.


	2. Steve's Story

**Believing In Magic - Steve's Story

* * *

**

Steve is six.

His parents are shocked when he comes home with Blue. He's shocked that they are shocked; he assumed the book was from them. In any case, he doesn't make an issue of it. They are happy that he's happy; the puppy is more than welcome to stay.

Life with Blue is exciting—now he has a friend to play with at home, and so home is no longer boring. Blue even helps him take care of Joe when needed, and his parents notice. They are impressed with the unusual puppy's intelligence. So impressed, in fact, that they don't even mind her eating at the table.

While his parents have accepted Blue's extraordinary qualities, school is another story. Nothing he says can convince his teacher—or the principal, after he makes a scene—that his puppy should be allowed to come to school with him. But she waits at the door every day.

His classmates are fascinated by the blue puppy, but don't understand why Steve always wants to play with her rather than them. This limits his human friendships, but he doesn't really mind. After all, Blue never needs permission to come over, at least at home. As for school...

She starts sneaking onto the playground at recess. When the other kids tell on them, she just gets more clever about it. It turns into a game, not getting caught with his puppy on school grounds. Everything with Blue is a game.

His parents still travel, and still leave their sons at the magical house when they have to be gone a long time. These are Steve's favorite times, because he can play Blue's Clues.

Of all the games he and Blue play, Blue's Clues is surely the most fun.

He and Blue love to help out around the magical house, and Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper are always friendly and welcoming. It isn't like school, where he has to sneak around on the playground. He never gets in trouble here.

Safety is boring, though. Maybe that's why he has so much fun sneaking Blue into school. And every once in awhile he'll act out just to get in trouble, because a little bit of trouble is fun. His teacher is more exasperated than angry about these moments; he's heard her describe him as a 'hellion', though he isn't sure what that means.

When he asks Mr. Salt, the shaker just laughs, so he decides it doesn't matter.

Steve wants to be six forever.

* * *

Steve is thirteen.

Being a teenager is every bit as excellent as he's always imagined. Not because of anything that's really changed in his life, but simply because he _is_ a teenager. It's the principle of the thing. After all, he knows all about teenagers; they are irrational and unpredictable and, in general, tend to frustrate adults a great deal.

He does that anyway; now he just has an excuse. Excuses are important.

Nobody who knows him well would ever describe him as responsible, or at least, it is not the first word that would come to anyone's mind. Or the second... or third... or tenth. But he _does_ have his moments, when called upon. So he is not overly surprised when his parents decide he is old enough to mind his brother while they are gone.

What surprises him is not being given the job, anyway. He is very surprised to hear they will no longer be going to the magical house. But he does understand the reasoning; it is fairly out of the way, and this is much simpler.

Understanding does not mean he has to like it. He loves that place, and will miss Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper and all the others. But he still has Blue to play with, so it is not all bad.

His brother is far less accepting of the situation. Privately, Steve hopes that the fits he keeps throwing will change their parents' minds, but it is not working so far. So he lies sprawled on a couch in the living room, with Blue curled up next to him, and watches cartoons with Joe, trying to think of something to say.

It is uncomfortable, and confuses him. He knows his brother is not happy with the new arrangements, but he's never before imagined that Joe could be so _quiet_. Usually his little brother is the only person at the magical house who is more cheerful than himself and his puppy.

A wet nose nuzzles up against his cheek and he laughs, patting Blue's head. "Want to go do something?"

"Bow! Bow bow bowbow!"

"Sure, sounds good." He tumbles off the couch and hesitates a moment. Joe hasn't even looked up, though he can't possibly have failed to hear the conversation. "Hey Joe, we're going to play outside, want to come with us?"

The response is slow in coming. "No, I'm okay."

He doesn't sound okay. But if he says so... Steve shrugs it off, and tracks down one of the beach balls he and Blue like to play with. If his brother wants to stay inside, he won't press the issue. He and his puppy can have fun, and Joe is welcome to join them any time. Or not join them, if he prefers. After all, he's still a little kid, and some little kids don't take transitions well. He'll get over it sooner or later.

Steve isn't worried.

* * *

Steve is fourteen.

He sits outside of the elementary school with Blue perched on his shoulders, waiting for his brother. He somewhat resents the chore; it is, after all, not his fault that Joe refuses to ride the bus home. But then, what else would he be doing? Since Blue is here, everything is okay. So he shrugs off any lingering annoyance and waits patiently.

"Bow!" Blue announces cheerfully, and hops to the ground. "Bow bow!"

It is not the first time she's seemed to know what is happening before it happens; the doors open as if on cue, and Steve squints at the children pouring out of the building. He does not expect his brother to be at the front of the pack, and he is correct.

Quite the opposite, in fact... he finally catches sight of a familiar, dark-haired form trudging out the doors, eyes locked firmly on the sidewalk. What is not surprising is his lateness; the surprise is that he is not alone. Steve arches an eyebrow. The two children accompanying his brother look tough—by second grade standards—and are being pointedly ignored.

"I don't really like the looks of this," he informs Blue, and approaches the group. He can hear the jeering well before they notice him; it is not a friendly gathering. Steve sighs. This will require intervention.

"Hey." The two immediately fall silent and look at him, startled. He can guess their thoughts; he is, after all, nearly twice their age, and nearly twice their size as well. "Why don't you guys back off?"

Though it does not come naturally, he puts enough menace into his tone to cause any second-grader to think twice. Even Blue crouches and gives a mostly convincing growl. Steve wishes she hadn't; it is all he can do not to laugh. After all, he knows his dog. But the two bullies decidedly do not, and he can see they aren't interested in going on.

They run away.

For his part, Joe greets his brother with a blank expression. "Oh, hi Steve." He does not sound overly grateful, but Steve is not expecting gratitude. His brother has all the social maturity of a pineapple. If anything, he has regressed over the past year.

But he does think he realizes, now, why Joe is refusing to ride the bus. "So how long has _that_ been going on?"

"Awhile," his brother answers dully. "They're just dumb and mean. I ignore 'em."

Whatever _awhile_ means, it seems to indicate Joe is not the only one ignoring them. "What about your teacher? Or your friends? Don't they ever do anything about it?"

"I'm not gonna _tattle_," his brother answers, with all the offended conviction a second-grader can muster. "And I don't have any friends."

While Steve is pretty sure he knew that already, hearing Joe say it somehow makes it more real. He squeezes the boy's shoulder. "Well... you don't have to put up with that. Don't forget that you've always got me, alright?"

Seemingly ignoring that, Joe looks away, and Steve frowns. There are times he's not certain his little brother actually likes him; this is one of them. But after a moment he is surprised to hear a question. "Promise?" Whispered cautiously, as if he expects a negative answer. But if he does, he is sorely underestimating his older brother—his brother who takes his responsibility very seriously.

Steve promises.

* * *

Steve is eighteen.

His brother lies in his bed, trembling uncontrollably. He'll be fine, the doctors have promised. Plenty of rest and warm fluids will have him back to normal in no time. But when they say 'back to normal' they only mean physically. Being healthy won't make him normal again. Not to Steve.

Not much of anything is likely to, really. Except...

One eye flickers open and fixes on him, but the boy does nothing else to acknowledge his presence. He winces. His brother looks pale, ill. Can he really get better so quickly? Perhaps. They did say it was a mild case. Still. Hypothermia is a serious matter.

Feeling guilty, Steve kneels by the bed to meet his brother's eyes. "Joe? How are you doing?" There is no answer, but he presses on. He needs to. He is leaving soon, and his brother needs to hear what he has to say. It can't be helped. He is still leaving, despite this, but... "Listen, Joe..."

The same blank stare. He chooses to see it as an invitation to go on. It probably isn't.

"Just because I'm moving out doesn't mean we won't still see each other," he promises. "We can write to each other, and call, and you can come and visit whenever you want, and..."

Joe shifts, just slightly. He mumbles something that Steve can't quite make out, but his fierce glare says it probably isn't a happy something. Still, it means he can speak. He's recovering. That outweighs all else.

So the elder of the two leans forward, straining. "What was that?"

The glare does not fade. "Go... away." His voice is ragged, pitiful, but still carries a harsh note of betrayal. "Go. I... _hate you_."

Silence.

Nothing can soften the sting of those words. Even though he knows his brother is ill, and angry, and speaking on impulse... he recoils, guilt gnawing at his insides. He never imagined how badly this would go over—not when his brother has become so distant over the years, from Steve and from everything else. If he'd even dreamed of this flare of emotion, of fury, he could have done things differently...

Nothing could change the fact that he's moving out, regardless. He _has_ to. But if only he'd foreseen this, he could have tried to explain his thoughts. He could have done something, anything, to soften the blow.

Hindsight is what it is. It is too late now.

And yet... he can't leave like this, it goes against everything screaming in his heart and mind. But he can't stay, not after he has been told so clearly he is not welcome.

Surely when Joe has recovered, he'll come to terms with things. He'll come visit and they can be friends again; forget this incident ever happened. Until then, maybe it is best to do as he says.

Steve goes away.

* * *

Steve is twenty.

Life is beautiful at the old house. The magical house. At this point they even refer to it as the Blue's Clues house, a sign of his dog's influence on the place. This nickname amuses him, but he can't argue with it. Blue seems to belong here; he is more than a little pleased that she's brought him along for the ride.

He only planned to stay for a year, a brief reprieve to gather his wits between high school and college. Those plans have been long since discarded. There's too much to do, and he is in no hurry to enter the world of normal adulthood anyway.

It seems like a paradise. All he really has to do here is play. He's even made a new friend, a child who lives nearby and visits freely, as neighbors here tend to do. His friend loves to play Blue's Clues and help out around the house—and Steve knows well that even work seems like play when friends are involved.

Yet... to say he has no regrets would be an overstatement. Growing up he heard too much from teachers and parents about the glory days of college, promises that it would be the best four years of his life. He wonders if it can really be better than how he lives now. Wondering isn't enough for him; some part of him desperately wants to experience that legendary place for himself. That it seems impossible only encourages him to dream.

Of course, dreams are encouraged in this place, but this dream he keeps to himself. To go to college necessarily means leaving here, and that is not a possibility he wants to raise. He has become too important. And...

It wouldn't just be leaving the Blue's Clues _house_. Pets, he knows full well, are not permitted at college, and he cannot quite imagine life without Blue.

The door opens and he looks up. He is expecting Miranda, a girl his age who lives nextdoor, but as always the sound of the door sparks a moment's hope in him. He doesn't even fully register that hope anymore, nor the disappointment when it proves unfounded. Another regret, just one other.

He is still waiting for Joe. But Joe never comes. Maybe he was wrong... and there is nothing he can do about that.

So he greets Miranda cheerfully, and her puppy Magenta bounds off in search of Blue. When the two bark and playfully run circles around each other, Steve can't help but smile. There is so much joy here, joy that outweighs all else. He refuses to dwell on what could've been, what cannot be.

He has to live his own life. College would be a great adventure, no doubt, but it can't be for everyone. _These_ are the best years of his life. He has to make the most of them. And wherever his brother is, he must live his own life too.

If the past is not perfect, maybe the future can be.

"Hey!" His shout reaches the puppies, chasing each other around the living room, and they stop and give him a quizzical look. He grins at them, then at Miranda. "Anyone want to have a picnic?"

Steve has never been happier.

* * *

Steve is twenty-four.

Whenever he finds himself with a respite from the hectic pace of life with Blue, he takes the opportunity to think. Not that he is making any great philosophical strides; more that he takes the time to refocus. He still loves it here, but there are no breaks. So he treasures the quiet moments as much as the time with his friends.

It is one such moment now, with Blue at school and the house's other residents busy with their own play. He sits curled up in the Thinking Chair with a cup of hot chocolate, contemplating nothing in particular. Having the time to contemplate is enough. It may be for the best; nothing is interrupted when someone speaks up.

"Hi Steve!"

He looks down, surprised by the voice; Paprika does not venture into the living room often. "Hey Paprika, what's up?"

The little condiment shaker hops onto the arm of the Thinking Chair and shrugs. "Cinnamon's sleeping," she explains, "so I'm staying out of the kitchen so I don't make noise and wake him up." She gives him a look of wide-eyed worry. "I wanna be a good big sister."

He can't help chuckling. "I think you're doing a great job, Paprika." He knows this discussion, in a way. Knows it because he has been on the other side of a similar conversation. That was long ago, but the memory is too important to let fade, and he remembers his anxiety clearly. Being responsible for a sibling isn't an easy thing... he knows that very well.

So he grins as she jumps up and down at his compliment. "Oh good!" Then she pauses and peers at him. "Steve, did _you_ ever have a big sister?"

She is entirely too cute for her own good, let alone his. "No," he shakes his head, "but I had a little brother. Just like you." He notes the word 'had' with some interest. It is not really proper to use the past tense here, but it does feel accurate. It has for some time. "And I had to take care of my little brother, too."

"I didn't know that!" She sounds enthusiastic; he hopes she doesn't ask any of the questions he's just invited, though he can manage if she does. But she opts instead for, "I can't wait for Cinnamon to get bigger. I wanna teach him a lot of stuff too." She waves her arms around. "Like numbers and letters and colors and everything!"

"I'm sure you'll do great," he smiles. "And I know your mom and dad really appreciate all your help."

"I'm gonna go see if they need me to do anything now," she declares, and hops off the chair. "Bye Steve!"

He watches her go, smiling. "Bye, Paprika." Along with his words, he sends with her a silent hope. The hope that she does a better job with her little brother than he did with his... not that he expects she could do much worse, in the end.

Steve misses his brother.

* * *

Steve is twenty-five.

The letters are hidden inside his pillowcase, the one place he hopes they won't be found. It is a small collection that has been building for a month, and he is no closer to a solution than when the first one came.

Acceptance letters. Steve has never shaken the wish to go to college, though the applications were something of an impulse. He hoped that merely applying would solve things. And in truth, given the fact that he's spent the last seven years being a peer to preschoolers, he wasn't quite expecting to be accepted anywhere. There are times that he has to wonder if he still has all his brain cells left.

Though if he doesn't, he considers it a fair trade.

But it seems he does, and this presents problems. He still _wants_ to go to college, and now he has the chance. But he cannot imagine leaving this place—and even if he could imagine it, how could he actually leave? He is needed here; he cannot abandon those who look up to him like a brother. He has done that once... he has learned his lesson. So he tries not to think about the letters. But sometimes they seem to struggle against being forgotten.

This time, he's searching for something to show for show and tell when he stumbles across the papers stuck in his pillowcase and grimaces. Fortunately, nobody else is in the room with him to notice. He leaves the bedroom quickly—maybe he'll find something in the living room instead. What he finds is Blue and one of the neighbors.

And a ringing telephone. That's odd. He doesn't get many calls.

"Hello?"

"Steve, hey."

His eyes widen. The voice is slightly high-pitched, just vaguely familiar, but he knows it immediately. Because there is only one person who would call and not bother to identify himself, even after all this time. Perhaps especially after all this time. "Oh... hi!"

"I'm gonna drop by this afternoon," Joe says, and Steve's composure nearly shatters. Instead he gets out something about show and tell. His brother knows where he is, and seems to understand.

There is so much more than that he wants to say, so many things he wants to ask, but his friend is here, so he has to suppress it. So he acts natural, as best he can. When he tells his companions who is on the phone, Blue shares his excitement—_she_ at least understands. And she saves him by taking the phone, giving him time to recover from the shock. He can still hardly believe it; it's been seven years, after all, and this seems somewhat abrupt. Especially considering he didn't even recognize his own brother's voice at first. But he isn't going to complain.

Only later do his thoughts stray to the letters, hidden away from all of his friends. Maybe... just maybe... if one regret can be remedied... maybe this can be the answer to the other as well.

Steve believes in miracles.


	3. The Rest of the Story

**Believing In Magic - The Rest of the Story

* * *

**

They are alone in the side yard; alone except for Mailbox, who is sound asleep out front. It is late now, and for the first time since Joe arrived there is no one around to hear them. The relief is palpable even though they both know the worst is yet to come. That they are free to talk means they _must_ talk.

Even so, neither is in any hurry. Steve is sprawled on the grass, comfortably cool against the warm summer night. Joe is flopped on the tire swing, looking a little dazed. That is understandable; after all, it's been quite some time since he was used to dealing with this world—with Blue, with talking condiments and furniture, with all the boundless enthusiasm of those who've never had to grow up.

Steve is actually impressed. His brother has done much better than he did on _his_ first day back here. For a few moments during show and tell, he almost recognized him as the cheerful seven-year-old who was here so long before. But he certainly does not recognize the fragile twelve-year-old he left shivering in bed the day he moved out. His little brother is bigger than him now, wiry and athletic. Steve thinks of the days when Joe was so routinely bullied, and can't quite hold back a chuckle.

"What's so funny?" his companion asks immediately, trying to sound casual. He fails but doesn't seem to notice, or at least, does not acknowledge the failure.

"Just thinking." Steve shakes his head. "Remind me—there really was a time once that I had to protect you, right?" He is surprised, and amused, to catch a note of pride in his voice. But why not? He's allowed to be proud of his brother.

For a few moments, he gets no answer to the question, as Joe is busy giving him a rather odd look. Then he rolls his eyes. "Remind me—I'm visiting my brother, not my grandma, right?" He sounds amused as well. Guarded, but amused. "I get it, I get it, I've gotten taller. And you've gotten _old_."

As much as Steve would like to give a clever response to that, he can't actually think of one. So he waves it off and sits up. "So what've you been up to?"

"Nothing much." He goes no further and the brief moment of levity is gone, slipping away as quickly as the night breeze. Silence falls over them again. But then Joe seems to decide he is not overly fond of silence. Unsurprising; he never has been. "You seem to be doing pretty well."

"Yeah." He is not going to take that bait—if it is indeed bait. That is not his brother's style. Or at least, it never was... Steve does not know how much has changed beyond the physically obvious, and it has him on edge. No matter how well things have gone so far, he cannot forget that their last conversation ended with the words _I hate you_.

He doesn't want to hear those words ever again.

So when it looks like no further comment will be coming from his brother, he says what he's been waiting to say for a very long time. "I've missed you."

It does not surprise him when Joe looks away; the lack of response is a response in itself. Steve smiles, careful not to let himself laugh out loud, which can only be misinterpreted. No, Joe will not admit to having missed him. It seems his little brother _still_ has all the social maturity of a pineapple.

Not even Steve will admit he's missed that, too.

* * *

"Blue wants to know if you're staying."

Well. Blue wants to know. Somehow, Joe suspects Blue isn't the only one. "It's almost midnight. I'm still here." Which probably is not quite what Steve was asking, but he doesn't want to answer that question. Mostly because he doesn't know the answer. He hasn't even been anticipating the offer.

He is right about the question, in any case; Steve waves off his answer with some annoyance. "Not if you're staying for a day or two, if you're _staying_."

This seems like it would be a good time to pretend he has some pressing business on the outside world, some life he cannot leave. Which wouldn't fool anyone. He doesn't bother. "I, uh, wasn't aware I had an invitation." He invited himself over to begin with, but that is not the point.

Steve doesn't point that out, though. He looks just a little stricken. "Of course you do. You always have. You _know_ that. I told you before..." Now he looks quite stricken indeed. "Before."

Oh. Right. There it is, then. Joe pulls back as if that can really end the discussion, or better, make the last statement have never happened. It doesn't work. And when he tries to respond he finds that his voice does not want to cooperate; it is a battle to force the words out. "Right. You did tell me that." His eyes narrow, unconsciously. "Was I supposed to believe it? You told me a lot of things."

His brother cocks his head; he looks confused. "What do you mean?"

Joe is shocked by the question—shocked enough that he cannot find words for a moment. Steve should know this. "You... you left," he answers finally, plaintively. "You promised you'd..." His voice gives out with a faint, strangled sound, and for a few moments there is only silence again.

"...My God." Steve shifts position in the grass and looks at him with disbelief. "That's why?_ That's_ why?" There is a note of something like desperation in his voice. "You really thought that... Joe, I..." He is struggling for words and his younger brother waits, not from patience, but because his own voice is still failing him. "I did promise," he agrees softly. "I meant it. I've always meant it. And I waited for you to get over—to get better." He shakes his head. "I waited and waited and you never came back."

If his brother's expression is one of disbelief, Joe can't even imagine his own. "You what?" He struggles against the words; they cannot be true, it cannot be so... so... _simple_. So simple he can still only speak in a shattered rasp. "But you... you never called or wrote or..." The reality of what he's saying sinks in. _I hate you_ is not a sentence which really invites further contact. "I... guess I kind of told you not to, didn't I?"

"Kind of," Steve agrees quietly. "That's not really an excuse... I probably should have anyway. But I didn't even think you liked me all that much to begin with." He shrugs helplessly. "We barely even spent time together, I—"

"You," Joe snaps before he can stop himself, "were busy with your puppy, so I stayed out of your way."

In any other situation, Steve's dumbfounded expression would be comical. But Joe is too shocked with himself to really notice.

He was not expecting _that_ to slip out.

* * *

If nothing else, Steve supposes this has been educational. That he does not like what he's learned at all is irrelevant—this all would have been very nice to know seven years ago. Maybe twelve years ago, even better.

He is surprised when Joe recovers first. "Sorry." The word is barely audible, but it is there. "I just..."

"I understand." And he does. Suddenly it all makes sense.

It is not his fault. Intellectually he knows that, but he cannot help blaming himself. He was older, supposedly more mature. Steve does not believe he abandoned his brother, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that _Joe_ feels he was abandoned. And if he has handled it poorly, he is not the only one.

Their eyes lock. Joe's are darker, deeper than Steve's; there may be a metaphor there. Or maybe he's just overthinking. "So my question still stands," he says finally, softly. "Are you staying?"

Joe considers this longer than last time; thankfully he does not point out that it was _Blue's_ question the first time it was asked. As he considers he extricates himself from the tire swing—a gesture which Steve doubts has anything to do with physical discomfort—and sprawls out on the grass. "I don't know. Should I?"

"Of course you should." Steve sighs. He knows the only tiniest fraction of what has happened in Joe's life since he moved out—he has kept in touch with their parents, and while short on details, they have expressed concern. Given how unusual _both_ their sons are, concern is telling. And for Steve's part, hindsight is what it is... again. "What kind of question is that, anyway? You belong here. That's why your life started falling apart around you when we stopped com—don't give me that look."

Despite the order his brother keeps giving him that look, a mix of annoyance and amazement. "I really don't even know how to respond to that," he mutters finally.

"Here, I can help. Three words—'Sure, I'll stay'. Give it a try." Steve grins; Joe doesn't. "Or can you tell me why not? Why _shouldn't_ you stay?"

"Because, well..." Joe looks uneasy. "You're here. I can fake it, but it's... weird."

"Aha. I get it." Steve cannot deny that the words hurt, but he also can't deny that they make perfect sense. He remembers the somewhat awkward hug they shared when Joe first arrived, and that he was rather surprised by it. "Fair point." On the other hand, this gives him a perfect opportunity to bring up what, up until now, seemed like a question that would only make things far worse. "Actually, now that you mention that, I... wanted to get your advice on something."

His brother gives him a curious look. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He produces one of the letters, finally released from hiding in his pillowcase, and hands it over. And he waits.

It seems that where Joe is involved, he has been waiting forever.

* * *

Most of this conversation has gone places Joe didn't expect, but the letter Steve offers him brings it to a whole new level. How his brother even found time to apply to any colleges, given his surroundings, is well beyond Joe's ability to imagine. He supposes that isn't the point, but nearly asks anyway, just to satisfy his curiosity.

"That's impressive," he ventures finally, hoping he does not sound sarcastic. It _is_ impressive; as an achievement in secrecy, as much as in intellect. Though the thought of secrecy brings another question to mind. "How'd you explain these to Mailbox?"

"I, um... had no idea how I would do that, so I went through the post office instead."

This surprises Joe a bit; Mailbox, the only inhabitant of the magical world who seems to have matured normally, was always his first confidant here. Then again, his brother's social circle has always been a bit different than his own, even when the same friends are involved. "How about Blue?"

"She doesn't know either."

Well. That _is_ a surprise. "Seriously?"

"Seriously. Not much point in telling her." Steve sighs. "I couldn't very well just pack up and leave everyone, could I?" Joe opens his mouth to say something he'll probably regret, but his brother anticipates it and cuts him off. "I _do_ learn from my mistakes."

"Fair enough." Joe hands the letter back, then frowns. "So you're not actually asking for my advice; you're asking if I'll move in and take over here while you're at college." Contrary to the beliefs of his peers, he _can_ catch on quickly when needed. "Do you think that'll really... you know... work?"

"Of course it will. It'll be different than before—for you, anyway. But..." He stands, stretches a bit, then moves forward and drops onto the grass next to Joe. "They need someone here. Not so much to take care of them—but to _be here_. To play with them, to teach them, and maybe most important, to understand them." He reaches out and squeezes Joe's shoulder; the younger is surprised at himself when he does not flinch away. "They're still your best friends, aren't they?"

As long as it has been since he was here last, there is certainly no one in the outside world who has ever come close to taking that title. "Of course."

"Then what's left to worry about?"

Good question. But Joe _is_ worried, he simply cannot put it into words. He is not sure how he feels about this—he wants to stay, but at the same time, he doesn't want his brother to leave. Again. "What about you?" he asks finally, the only coherent thought he can form. "Staying here is all well and good, but... it won't fix anything."

"It'll fix more than you think." Steve is quiet for a moment, then smiles. "Besides, it's not like I have to leave right away. We _do_ have a lot of catching up to do—and, if you're staying here, you'll have to learn to play Blue's Clues."

"I know how to play Blue's Clues. Blue leaves her pawprints on stuff, and you hopefully find them all and clean them up before Mom comes home and kills both of you."

Steve smirks. "Granted, but you've got to learn the finer points." When Joe doesn't laugh his brother's expression softens. "I know... I know. But we'll keep in touch this time—for real. Trust me." He either interprets Joe's expression correctly, or simply thinks better of the request. "If you can."

If he can. The answer to that is not the answer he wants to give, and is certainly not the answer Steve wants to hear. "I... don't _know_. What if I can't?"

He can tell the question hurts; he regrets it, but that can't be helped. It takes his brother a few moments to respond, and he does so with a nod of understanding. "Then... give me another chance."

Joe nods. He is here, after all... the first steps have been taken. All that is left is to continue.

"I can do that."

* * *

Blue awakens in the middle of the night, letting out a few startled barks before calming herself—somewhat. Her first action is to crawl to the edge of her bed and look down; she cannot bring herself to look _under_ the bed, but at least if there is anything fearsome lurking beneath it, that something is not trying to crawl out.

Even so—trying to get back to sleep is a lost cause. But she knows what to do in such cases. The same thing she always does after a bad dream. So after checking once more, to be absolutely certain nothing is creeping out into the room from the darkness under her bed, she jumps to the floor and hops up on Steve's bed.

Of course, when she lands on the pillow she remembers that it is not actually Steve's bed anymore. This fact throws her off for a moment, and only a moment. Steve isn't here anymore. Yes, that's right... her best friend is, for the first time, living somewhere she cannot follow. She misses him already, but tries not to dwell on it. There are too many adventures ahead, so many stories to tell him when he comes home.

Besides, Joe is here. And Joe is Steve's brother, and that is enough for Blue. So she burrows in under the blanket next to him.

One dark eye flickers open as she makes herself comfortable. "Blue?" He sounds more surprised than anything, but it quickly turns to concern. "You okay?"

"Bowbow," she explains. That ought to be enough. But then it occurs to her that maybe this is not so logical to him as it is to her, and decides to ask permission. Just to be safe. "Bow bow bow bow bowbow?"

For a moment he looks confused; it sometimes takes him longer than Steve to interpret Blue's words. He _has_ been gone a long time, and their conversation before that was limited. But then he smiles and scratches her ears. "Of course you can."

Blue licks his face gratefully before settling back in beneath the covers. She is only a puppy; she doesn't understand all the complexities which have gotten them to this point. But they don't matter. She understands what Steve asked of her before he left... that her best friend has entrusted her with looking after his brother. She understands that well.

A creak from the roof; she yelps once before realizing that a monster coming from _under_ her bed wouldn't make noise from the ceiling. Feeling a little silly, she closes her eyes and reminds herself that no monsters can get her here anyway. But just to be sure, she curls up closer to Joe, nestling up against his chest.

She can feel his heartbeat as she drifts off to sleep. It is just the same as Steve's.


End file.
